


encore

by KunessiPhany



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Aftermath of Copa America 2019, Angst, Hopeful Ending, The Kunessi is implied, and in the past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 15:03:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19466458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KunessiPhany/pseuds/KunessiPhany
Summary: Leo kept waiting for the moment when Kun would look at him and say "You played great," like he did after every single game with the Argentine national team. It was routine, Kun's reminder that Messi played well whether it was a loss, draw, or win.But the moment never came, not the words of praise and not the advice of what could have been done better and not the compliment of what he had done right.the aftermath of the Copa América 2019 semifinals





	encore

**Author's Note:**

> Idk I just really needed to get this off my chest. Argentina deserved more.

Kun was _pissed the fuck off_ , and that was putting it lightly.

He could see Leo standing at midfield, looking lost, and immediately felt that instinctual need to go comfort him. But things weren't as easy between them as they used to be, he had no right to do that anymore, and so he didn't.

But he did feel awful because he could already hear the so-called sports analysts criticizing Messi in his head, claiming the greatest player in the world couldn't perform for his national team the way he did for Barcelona.

And that was a _fucking lie_.

Leo had given the rest of his team a chance to play without his usual input, refused to bring out his usual magic to make them perform well without depending on him, gave his team a chance to _shine_ without him.

Their match against Venezuela had gone fine. The team had managed to find their footing after finding a way to adapt to each other's different play styles, and they played well _together_.

But this match? This Superclásico against Brazil? 

It was a fucking _disaster_.

And what really hurt Kun the most was the fact that Brazil _was not_ superior to them, the _verdeamarela_ did _not_ play better than them. It had only been a few Argentine players trying their best, pushing forward, trying to score, and those handful of players had been enough to be at Brazil's level, had been enough to play as evenly as possible.

Kun felt more than saw the Argentine player who came to his side, intending to wrap his arms around him. A strong wave of _déjà vu_ washed over him, taking him back to their first match of the Copa, when his friend, the Colombian captain James, had tried to calm him down and Kun _just didn't want to be touched_.

So he did the same thing, pushed the player's touch off and walked away. He could see Otamendi still off by the goalposts and Ángel close to him, so he knew it was probably one of the younger guys. He knew it was bad sportsmanship, he knew whoever it was would be hurt, but he couldn't bring himself to _give a fuck_.

He walked toward Nicolás Otamendi, who was staring down at the ground with his hands on his hips, and felt a wave of affection pass through him. Nico had been one of the few players trying their hardest, had basically been defending the team on his own _and_ trying to get the ball across the field toward Leo and Kun by himself, and this was the reward he got.

Nico looked up as Kun approached him and gave him a rueful smile, opening his arms for the smaller Bonaerense. Sergio didn't hesitate to walk into his arms, feeling Nico ruffle his hair gently in a comforting gesture.

After a moment, Kun pulled back and they looked around the field, eyeing the Brazilian players who'd behaved like assholes most of the game and were looking weary of greeting the two Man City players.

Kun looked toward Messi again, looking as lost as he always did with Argentina, as he mindlessly accepted greetings from the Brazilians. Dani Alves approached Leo, hugging him tightly, but Messi didn't receive the embrace. It was the most awkward hug Kun had ever been witness to, and he had to squash down the urge to go comfort Leo again.

Instead, he glanced at his other teammates. Lautaro was covering his face as he cried, Paredes receiving a bit of consolation from a stone-faced Rodri. The younger generations were crying, were experiencing the gut-wrenching feeling of a loss with Argentina for the first time, drowning in that sentiment.

Kun looked to his right at Nico, at the dry-eyed acceptance of their fate on his face. He looked to the left to the sidelines at Ángel, who was comforting Foyth, the awareness of the outcome in his actions, in the way they seemed to be routinary or at least performed before.

Sergio looked across the field at Leo, and suddenly, their eyes met. They continued to stare at each other for a few moments suspended in time, Kun swallowing harshly, because he knew that look, recognized that sadness.

They couldn't react like the younger generations. They already knew how it felt to drown in the utter failure of another loss, just one more in a succession of _nearly-there_ 's with Argentina, just another disappointment in a _close but not good enough_ string of losses with the national team. 

Kun sighed heavily and began to make his way toward the tunnel. Nico followed behind him quietly, and Messi finally moved from his spot, making his way to follow the European league players at a distance.

Just another _almost but not quite_ performance in the cycle with the _albiceleste_.

Ángel followed when they passed by him.

The four braced themselves for the disapproval that they knew was waiting for them at the end of the night, the criticism that would rain down on them with the loss, just another night in the sequence of _Messi can't perform for the national team_ , in the series of _Agüero can only play well with Manchester City_ , with the steady stream of _Otamendi disappears when it comes to the albiceleste_ , with the continuation of _Di María may have lost the skills he had and not remembered where he left them_.

* * *

Leo was _dead tired_ when he and Kun finally made their way into their shared bedroom at the hotel. They traipsed into the room in absolute silence, Kun immediately making his way toward the bathroom. Leo sat on the edge of his bed and looked toward the wall in silence.

He had already talked to Antonella, had assured her he was fine and would continue to be okay. The defeat hurt, the lingering disappointment of being out of the tournament as always present, but it was all drowning in the burn of his rage.

Messi knew he should probably pack. That was one of the things he resented about the night's defeat. The Argentinian team couldn't just pack up their bags and go home to lick their wounds. No, they were being forced to fly to São Paulo the next day to compete over third place.

Secretly, Leo felt like just telling CONMEBOL they could go fuck themselves and to keep their fucking third place, to take it and shove it up their asses, to give it to Perú— who was likely to lose against Chile— and leave the Argentines _the fuck alone_ . To let _him_ be.

Kun walked out of the bathroom slowly, face freshly-washed, and made his way toward his bed. Silence reigned in the room.

Leo kept waiting for the moment when Kun would look at him and say "You played great," like he did after every single game with the Argentine national team. It was routine, Kun's reminder that Messi played well whether it was a loss, draw, or win, to remind him that everything the media said was anything but true, cruel words borne out of spite and envy. Sergio's admiration of Messi's skills wasn't just something he did publicly for the media, it was his genuine feelings about Leo, and he always made sure to let him know, to worship the football god with his words and caresses and lips and pray to him on his knees.

But the moment never came, not the words of praise and not the advice of what could have been done better and not the compliment of what he had done right.

Kun was quiet as he scrolled through his phone, and Messi finally had to look toward him.

"Are you okay?" Lionel said. Kun was never that quiet, and Leo realized with a start he was disappointed the Bonaerense hadn't tried to comfort him.

Kun didn't even look up from his phone as he replied, "I'm fine."

He was not. Leo had known Sergio for practically half his life, he knew the Manchester City player like the back of his hand. Kun was angry.

"Don't be so hard on them," Leo murmured. "We played well."

Kun unclenched his jaw, and Messi knew he'd hit the nail on the head.

"They weren't much help."

And the Barcelona player couldn't deny that. It was why he'd decided to step in halfway through the first half, when he'd realized Lautaro wasn't helping Kun, who was pushing forward so hard, trying his best to score. Most of the time, he forgot Rodri was playing, Tagliafico's passes were just awful, and who knew where the hell Acuña was. Nico Otamendi was practically defending and trying to play midfielder when he realized Paredes wasn't helping the two of them.

They'd been, admittedly, a mess, but Leo knew how hard it was to adapt to the national team, especially one full of newcomers. The only ones used to playing with each other were them four: Nico, Ángel, Leo, and Kun.

Leo, Ángel, and Sergio had practically grown up together, and Nicolás had been part of the national team for quite a while as well. They were the only four who'd played together for more than just one tournament before.

"Yeah, but we _all_ make mistakes, and we _are_ playing in Brazil. We knew, coming in, we had the locality against us… and we made mistakes," Leo answered after a moment. "It's not easy carrying the expectations of an entire nation on your shoulders."

Kun finally looked up at Leo, his eyes impossibly soft, and Messi was reminded of all the nights Kun would look at him like that, eyes shining with so much affection as he kneeled in reverence, the honesty in his whispered words of devotion against his pale skin, the adoration on his tongue as he placed his mark on Leo's neck and lips.

"You would know," he whispered. And Leo knew it was coming, the praising of his performance and the reminder that he didn't deserve what was to come and the comfort following _one more loss_.

And for the first time, Leo didn't want to hear it.

He stood from the bed and made his way toward Kun, and for the first time in a long time, initiated the hug that Leo knew Sergio needed.

"Don't be angry at them," he muttered in his ear, his tattooed arms around Kun's broad shoulders. "They made mistakes and so did we. The odds were stacked against us from the start, and we have really nothing to be ashamed of. We played well. We'll be okay. We always are."

Kun seemed to melt into his touch, Leo could feel the tension leaving his body as he relaxed on the bed. Messi fixed himself to lie on the bed half-draped over him.

"I missed my best friend so much," he finally murmured.

"I thought I'd been replaced by Ota," Leo retorted, the teasing lilt to his voice both surprising and satisfying.

"I'm still sharing a room with you, aren't I, _boludo_?" 

Leo pulled back to lie on the bed beside Kun and laughed.

"I would drag your ass out of any other room."

"You'd throw a fucking tantrum until I was forced to room with you," Kun corrected and Messi laughed harder. Once his laughter died down, the two of them remained staring at the ceiling, their hands brushing on the bed.

Lionel took Kun's in his.

"We're okay."

They were still royals, record-breakers in their corresponding leagues, winners in their own right, legends of their generation. Nobody could take that away from them.

**Author's Note:**

> The thing about this loss is I feel like they're not feeling it as harshly. I feel like they're more angry than anything.
> 
> I mean, my feelings on this are pretty strong and pretty clear lmao
> 
> Feel free to comment your opinions. Also, to pressure me to or on anything, y'all know where to find me. Love y'all.


End file.
